LYRICS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 

JOHN  H.  FLAGG 


r* 


20 


Jo 


kA 


LYRICS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND 
AND  OTHEE  POEMS 


LYRICS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND 

AND 

OTHER  POEMS 


BY 

JOHN  H.  FLAGG 


THE  TORCH  PRESS 

CEDAR  RAPIDS,  IOWA 

1909 


COPYRIGHT  1909 

BY 

JOHN  H.  FLAGG 

ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 


To  Edward  Quintard,  by  whose  skilful 
service  as  a  physician  and  unfailing  devo 
tion  as  a  friend  I  have  been  made  a  double 
debtor,  these  pages  are  inscribed  in  lasting 
gratitude 

].  H.  F. 


M19185O 


PREFACE 

This  volume  is  the  outgrowth  of  a  smaller 
one,  privately  printed,  in  1902,  under  title  of 
the  "Monarch,"  and  intended  solely  for  pre 
sentation  as  a  Christmas  salutation  to  personal 
friends  of  the  author.  Bequests  for  copies  hav 
ing  long  since  exhausted  that  limited  edition, 
he  has  been  urged  to  publish  a  new  volume,  to 
embrace  not  only  the  numbers  contained  in  the 
former  one,  but  others  that  have  since  been 
written.  Hence  the  present  volume. 

The  author  hopes  that  whosoever  may  honor 
him  by  its  perusal  will  deal  charitably  with 
its  admitted  shortcomings,  in  view  of  the  un 
toward  conditions  under  which  the  work  was 
undertaken  —  conditions  well  understood  by 
those  for  whom  the  book  was  primarily  intend 
ed.  The  continued  request  for  copies  of  the 
earlier  edition  is  accepted  as  an  assurance  that 
hitherto  this  has  been  graciously  accorded,  and 
it  is  now  asked  that  only  like  indulgence  may 
be  extended  to  this  later  work  of 

THE  AUTHOR 

114  West  Fifty-eighth  Street, 
New  York,  October,  1909 


CONTENTS 


CHILDHOOD'S  HOME        .      .      .      «     ^>.;.  -  .  11 

THE   BROOK 20 

ODE  TO  VERMONT ,.-,./    -;j  24 

A  NEW  ENGLAND  TWILIGHT       .      .    y^j    -.,;] .  27 

THE  TESTY  DEACON :•?-,.*  30 

THE  AWAKENING     ....    ^--ijfcj.,  »*;••  43 

JUSTIN  S.  MORRILL        .       .       .       .      •  •»<.*.  'f.  46 

THE  WOODS 49 

THE  RETURN ,,    a>  54 

THE  PATRIARCH  OAK      ....      >:/;-,.  ,.i>  59 

SLEEP ..•*;*.,*-,;/•  V-*.xr'4  74 

THE  MONARCH 76 

ON  A  DEW  DROP 82 

ODE  TO  A  BULLFINCH 83 

A  GENTLE  MAIDEN  DO  I  KNOW        ....  85 

AN  AMORETTE          88 

CAPTIVITY 91 

I  THINK  OF  THEE  .  93 


8  CONTENTS 

A  MEMORY        ..., ,      .      .  95 

THE  SLUGGARD         .      .      .      .      .      >      ,      .  97 

UNDAUNTED        . , .  99 

ACROSS  THE  STREET       .      .      ...      .      .  101 

CLARK  AND  THE  OREGON      ......  106 

CHILDHOOD'S  DREAM      .      .      .      .      .      .      .  113 

WILLIAM  McKiNLEY       .       .       .     \u:*.       -     ;  117 

DESTINY       .    ' * . '     .  119 

THE  OLD  YEAR '  ^     .      .  123 

GOD'S  HOROLOGUE 125 

DISILLUSION       . .  126 

AN  EPITHALAMIUM 130 

MONT  BLANC      . ^    i  132 

COLUMBIA           ...      .      .      .      .  '*V^H    -.  134 

To  MARJORIE      .      .      .      .      .      .  •    .      .      .  136 

THE  ALCHEMIST 138 

THE  FINAL  VOYAGE                 m '    .      .      .      .  139 


POEMS 


CHILDHOOD'S  HOME 


I  drempt  of  busy  childhood  days,  where  sun 
shine  ever  clung, 

Back  in  my  country  home  again,  when  this  old 
heart  was  young  — 

Through  one  brief  hour  of  ecstacy,  when  every 
thought  was  bliss, 

With  every  care  forsaken,  what  spell  could  be 
like  this! 

My  ravished  eyes  sought  every  place  —  each 
object  they  once  knew  — 

With  nothing  changed  in  all  these  years  and 
nothing  added  new  — 

Transfixed  I  stood  amid  the  scenes  so  long  ob 
scured  from  sight, 


12  CHILDHOOD'S  HOME 

As  through  the  windows  shone,  methought,  a 
consecrated  light. 

I  saw  my  mother's  flower-pots  upon  the  win 
dow-sill, 

Wherein  grew  sweet  geraniums  that  drooped 
with  thirst  until 

At  sunset  she  would  sprinkle  them,  and  fondle 
each  with  care  — 

Methought,  to  gladden  my  return,  their  frag 
rance  was  still  there. 


I  saw  the  old  melodeon  that  many  an  eve  I'd 
heard 

In  hymns  led  by  my  mother's  voice  that  hal 
lowed  every  word. 

This,  long  since,  joined  the  choir  unseen,  in  an 
thems  sung  on  high : 

I  sometimes  think  I  hear  it  now,  through  cloud- 
rifts  in  the  sky. 


CHILDHOOD'S  HOME  13 

In  yonder  nook  —  its  customed  place  —  stood 

father's  old  oak  chair, 
Descended  from  ancestral  lines  —  a  gift  from 

heir  to  heir: 
As  if  to  stay  each  stranger  hand,  and  shield  it 

from  all  harm, 
A  spider  here  had  spun  its  web,  outstretched 

from  arm  to  arm. 

How  often  here  I'd  clambered  to  my  father's 

waiting  knee, 
To  hear  his  thrilling  stories  of  brave  deeds  on 

land  and  sea  — 
Of  Indian  scalpers  on  the  plains,  of  pirates 

fierce  and  bold, 
Of  hunters'  daring  for  wild  beasts  —  and  those 

who  delve  for  gold. 

Here  was  the  book-case  just  as  when,  at  restful 
evening  time, 


14  CHILDHOOD'S  HOME 

I  searched  the  well-worn  volumes  through  for 

picture  or  for  rhyme, 
Since  for  plain  books  I  did  not  care  —  they 

baffled  me  with  lore  — 
And  every  one  I  tried  to  read  I  found  to  be  a 

bore. 

There  hung  the  quaint  old  mirror  still,  just 
where  it  hung  before, 

When  I  had  gazed  on  my  first  suit,  bought  at 
the  village  store; 

And  donning  once  my  brother's  clothes  to  it 
I  straightway  ran, 

To  see  how  big  and  brave  I'd  look  when  I  be 
came  a  man. 

There  stood  the  same  old  kitchen  stove,  where 

many  a  nipping  day, 
I'd  held  my  freezing,  outstretched  hands  when 

I  came  in  from  play. 


CHILDHOOD'S  HOME  15 

This  good  old  friend  had  one  grave  fault  —  it 

burned  out  wood  so  fast  — 
I  hourly  lugged  an  armful  in  until  the  cold 

months  passed. 

Here  hour  by  hour  would  mother  give  her 
patient,  willing  toil, 

To  make  the  good  things  for  us  all  that  care 
less  cooks  might  spoil; 

Who  made  for  me  plump  turnovers,  and  cookies 
by  the  score, 

And  yet  I  claimed  I  grew  so  fast,  I  needed  just 
one  more. 

There  peered  the  old  remorseless  clock  that 
watched  me,  argus-eyed, 

And  when  my  bed-time  hour  arrived  my  pati 
ence  oft  had  tried. 

'Twas  then  I  knew  it  ran  too  fast,  while  mother 
claimed  'twas  slow ;  — 


16  CHILDHOOD'S  HOME 

Whatever  my  contention  was,  I  always  had  to 
go  — 

Go  to  my  far-off,  attic  bed,  when  mother  led  the 

way, 
Whose  candle  and  assuring  words  my  fears  did 

not  allay. 
She  bore  away  the  candle,  after  kissing  me 

good-night, 
But  all  through  life  I  Ve  felt  that  kiss,  and  seen 

that  vanished  light. 

There  hung  the  same  old  ample  shelf  that  we 

called  "father's  own," 
Where  he  kept  Bible,  pipe  and  pen,  yet  all  "odd 

things"  were  thrown, 
Plus  "The  Old  Farmer's  Almanac,"  where  we 

were  blandly  told, 
To  "Look  —  about  —  this  —  time  —  for  — 

squalls"  —  which  prophecy  controlled. 


CHILDHOOD'S  HOME  17 

When  lo,  I  heard  the  rattling  hail  upon  the  win 
dow-pane, 

Forewarning  that  dread  winter  days  were  steal 
ing  back  again: 

Thanksgiving  was  approaching,  too  —  that  boon 
from  old  Cape  Cod  — 

Ordained  by  pious  Pilgrim  sires,  in  gratefulness 
to  God. 

And  whistling  then  for  dear  "old  Jack,"  he 
bounded  to  my  side  — 

That  noble,  true,  confiding  friend  —  my  com 
rade  and  my  pride ; 

Where'er  I  strayed,  he,  too,  must  go  —  I  al 
ways  felt  his  touch  — 

'Twas  hard  to  call  him  but  a  brute,  he  knew 
and  felt  so  much. 

Together  then  we  wandered  down  through  our 
old  sugar-place, 


18  CHILDHOOD'S  HOME 

Towards  the  brook  and  old  mill-hole,  where  oft 

I'd  bobbed  for  dace, 
And  once  had  "hooked"  a  wise  old  trout,  and 

quivered  with  delight, 
Until  my  line  caught  on  a  snag,  quite  hidden 

from  my  sight. 

Throughout  that  summer,  day  by  day  —  at 
dawn,  at  noon,  at  eve  — 

I  vainly  angled  for  that  trout  more  hours  than 
you'd  believe; 

But  while  he  thus  outwitted  me,  I  learned  be 
yond  a  doubt, 

That  if  on  earth  there  was  a  sage,  it  was  that 
wise  old  trout. 

I  woke  to  find  these  vanished  scenes  of  child 
hood's  cherished  hours 

A  dream  of  what  they  once  had  been,  and  only 
perished  flowers; 


CHILDHOOD'S  HOME  19 

Yet  grateful  am  I  e'en  to  be  thus  led  through 

memory's  path, 
To  pluck  with  joy  such  perfumed  leaves  from 

Dreamland's  aftermath. 


THE  BEOOK 


I  am  the  brook,  the  nimble  brook, 
Born  in  my  lone,  sequestered  nook, 
Mid  God's  untrodden  mountain-peaks 
Where  Nature  every  language  speaks. 

Unlike  the  footed  beasts  of  earth  — 
So  frail  and  helpless  at  their  birth  — 
At  first  I  creep,  then  straightway  run, 
Ere  my  first  day  has  scarce  begun. 

On  then  I  rush  with  quickened  pace 
And  force  my  way  from  place  to  place, 
While  other  brooklets  to  me  flow 
To  swell  my  volume  as  I  go. 


THE  BROOK  21 

The  alders  nod  when  I  pass  by; 
The  reeds  and  rushes  courtesy ; 
And  where  the  lilies  rise  and  float 
I  suck  rare  nectar  from  each  throat. 

And  when  I'm  wearied  and  depressed, 
I  loiter  at  my  pools  to  rest, 
But  soon  press  on  with  doubled  haste, 
To  catch  the  hours  allowed  to  waste. 

When  lo,  I'm  halted  on  my  way, 
And  shackled  lest  I  break  away; 
Then  like  a  convict  made  to  toil  — 
Man  deeming  that  his  rightful  spoil. 

Thus  forced,  I  tread  his  endless  wheel ; 
I  grind  his  grist,  and  mould  his  steel; 
His  looms  I  work  with  tireless  hand, 
And  all  his  varied  arts  expand. 


22  THE  BROOK 

If  once  I  break  from  servitude, 
I  still  am  sought,  am  still  pursued ; 
Where'er  I  turn,  or  whither  flee, 
Man  first  is  there  to  harness  me. 

At  last,  howe'er,  I  rend  the  chain 
That  bound  me  for  his  sordid  gain, 
But  not  until  I've  grown  ten  fold 
Since  down  the  mountain-side  I  bowled. 

And  soon  I  wake,  as  from  a  dream, 
To  find  myself  a  tidal  stream, 
With  brackish  taste  upon  my  tongue  — 
Unknown  to  me  when  I  was  young. 

And  whence  this  plight;  how  can  it  be 
That  I,  impelled  towards  the  sea, 
Am  forced  to  turn  about  each  day 
And  backward  trace  my  former  way? 


THE  BROOK  23 

Bewildered  by  this  constant  change 
(To  me  so  meaningless  and  strange) 
I  scarce  can  tell,  howe'er  I  try, 
Just  what  I  am  each  day,  or  why. 

But  hark !  I  hear  the  ocean  roar 
And  wonder  at  my  fate  in  store; 
0  'erwhelmed  I  'd  be  with  doubt  and  fear 
Had  I  not  faith  that  God  is  near. 

My  destiny,  thus  far  benign, 
Was  fashioned  by  a  Hand  divine; 
On  that  I  always  have  relied, 
And  with  it  every  ill  defied. 

So  now,  when  doomed  henceforth  to  be 
A  plaything  of  the  fretful  sea, 
That  Hand,  found  ever  at  my  side, 
Will  not  forsake  me,  but  abide. 


ODE  TO  VEKMONT 


Thy  very  name  doth  symbolize 

Thy  verdant  peaks  that  proudly  rise 

As  if  to  buttress  with  their  might 

The  unpropped  dome  of  heavenly  light. 

Thy  Druid  forests  still  conceal 
The  eagles  that  high  o'er  them  wheel, 
And  shelter  well  the  panting  deer 
When  driven  from  the  open  near. 

The  beauty  of  thy  matchless  hills 
The  ravished  eye  with  rapture  fills, 
While  meadows  nestle  in  between 
As  if  too  modest  to  be  seen. 


ODE  TO  VERMONT  25 

Thy  fruitful  fields  and  fertile  plains 

Bear  flocks  and  herds  and  bounteous  grains; 

Where'er  the  gladdened  eye  may  rest 

The  husbandman  seems  doubly  blessed. 

Thy  hillside  homes  and  hamlets  all 
Proclaim  content  and  thrift  withal  — 
Won  by  the  hardened  hand  of  toil 
From  thy  well-tilled,  though  rugged  soil. 

No  trembling  slave  yet  breathed  thy  air 
And  felt  his  shackles  bind  him  there. 
For  by  thy  ancient  Bill  of  Eights* 
All  men  stand  equal  on  thy  heights. 

Sons  of  thy  birth,  such  land  is  thine ; 

Where  first  thy  sires  reared  freedom's  shrine; 

*  Vermont,  in  July,  1777  —  fourteen  years  anterior  to  admis 
sion  into  the  Union  —  was  first  of  all  the  states  and  territories 
to  prohibit  slavery  by  constitutional  provision. 


26  ODE  TO  VERMONT 

Who  vanquished  each  invading  foe, 
And  swept  him  back,  or  laid  him  low. 

Thus  to  the  fittest  can  we  trace 
Thy  present  sturdy,  virile  race, 
And  may  it  ever  there  remain 
To  rule  as  now  o'er  thy  domain. 

And  for  that  land,  by  Heaven  caressed, 
Where  all  are  free,  and  none  oppressed, 
Thank  well  those  sires  whose  master  hand 
Built  from  thy  rock,  and  not  thy  sand, 

And  guard  with  more  than  pious  care 
Thy  heritage,  as  trusted  heir, 
So  that  forever  here  shall  be 
The  mountain  home  of  liberty! 


A  NEW  ENGLAND  TWILIGHT 


'Tis  Nature's  chosen  hour  for  rest, 
When  all  is  calm  within  her  breast ; 
When  Day  still  leaves  a  friendly  light 
To  guide  the  footsteps  of  the  Night; 

When,  one  by  one,  a  silent  star 
Peers  through  some  portal  left  ajar, 
While  languid  beams  the  pallid  moon 
As  if  reviving  from  a  swoon. 

The  cows,  long  since,  in  lagging  train 
Came  browsing  down  the  pasture  lane, 
To  yield  their  tribute  unaware, 
In  turn  for  scanty  keep  and  care. 


28  A  NEW  ENGLAND  TWILIGHT 

The  housewife  spreads  the  frugal  meal; 
The  pigs  for  theirs  are  heard  to  squeal, 
While  from  her  stall  the  old  gray  mare 
Neighs  loudly  for  her  well-earned  share. 

The  hat,  which  all  the  day  hath  hung, 
Unhooks  himself  from  where  he  clung, 
And  with  the  swallows  debonair 
Flits  here  and  there  and  everywhere. 

The  whippoorwill  now  comes  to  fill 

Our  souls  with  deeper  rapture  still, 

Whose  song,  suppressed  throughout  the  day, 

But  sweeter  makes  his  evening  lay. 

The  turkeys  take  to  roost  like  troops 
In  dressed-up  lines  —  not  huddled  groups  — 
While  night-hawks  far  above  them  fly  — 
The  sole  explorers  of  the  sky. 


A  NEW  ENGLAND  TWILIGHT  29 

The  orchestra  of  croaking  frogs 
Strikes  up  among  the  lowland  bogs, 
Whereat  the  fire-flies  now  advance 
And  take  their  partners  for  the  dance. 

At  length,  as  darkness  deeper  grows, 
All  creatures  nestle  to  repose 
Save  night's  weird  sentinel,  the  owl, 
Kobed  in  his  monkish  cope  and  cowl, 

For  Nature's  curfew  has  been  rung, 
And  songbirds  have  their  vespers  sung; 
No  sound  the  freshening  breeze  now  brings, 
Save  hurrying  midnight's  rustling  wings. 


THE  TESTY  DEACON 


'Twas  down  in  the  old  Pine  Tree  state 
Where  chanced  to  pass  what  I  relate ; 
Where  pie  at  every  meal  is  found, 
And  Yankees  at  their  best  abound; 

Where,  too,  they  serve  their  pork  and  beans 
In  methods  fit  for  kings  and  queens, 
But  where  French  gastronomic  art 
Is  not  in  vogue  in  any  part. 

'Twas  in  a  rural  farming  town 
That  never  yet  had  won  renown, 
Where  dwelt  a  farmer  —  Ephraim  Hale  — 
The  "hero"  of  this  touching  tale. 


THE  TESTY  DEACON  31 

Now  "Deacon  Eph,"  as  he  was  called, 
Wore  well  his  years,  though  long  since  bald, 
And  led  a  fairly  righteous  life, 
Though  always  testy  with  his  wife. 

But  she  —  the  counterpart  of  him  — 
Indulged  his  every  peevish  whim; 
So  meek  and  humble  had  she  grown, 
That  lasting  feuds  were  seldom  known. 

He  therefore  found  domestic  life 
A  blessed  boon  with  such  a  wife ; 
But  had  she  been  a  grumpy  dame 
That  life  might  not  have  been  so  tame. 

Long  deacon  in  the  village  church, 
His  name  thus  far  had  known  no  smirch; 
This  being  so,  folks  thought  that  he 
Was  what  good  deacons  all  should  be. 


32  THE  TESTY  DEACON 

With  Yankee  thrift  lie  money  made 
By  raising  geese  which  often  strayed 
E'en  to  his  neighbor's  very  door, 
And  wrecked  his  garden  o'er  and  o'er. 

One  day  this  neighbor  —  Moses  Slade  — 
Espied  them,  while  in  ambush  laid, 
Each  delving  like  a  lusty  Turk 
To  ruin  all  his  spring-time  work. 

Enraged,  he  seized  each  poaching  goose, 
And  ere  he  turned  one  of  them  loose, 
Slit  through  the  web  between  its  toes, 
And  made  one  foot  just  like  a  crow's. 

In  panic  then  they  hustled  all 
To  get  beyond  the  garden  wall, 
And  chose  the  shortest  route  for  home, 
With  no  desire  to  further  roam. 


THE  TESTY  DEACON  33 

They  sought  at  once  —  by  instinct  led  — 
The  near-by  pond,  where  they  were  bred, 
And  then  proceeded,  one  by  one, 
To  navigate  as  often  done. 

But  lo!  all  calculations  failed, 
And  their  aquatic  ardor  quailed 
When  round  and  round  their  bodies  spun, 
With  not  an  inch  of  headway  won. 

Now  one  more  fault  the  Deacon  had, 
Which  was  a  temper,  always  bad; 
And  this  he  lashed  with  passion 's  whip, 
And  made  it  sting  at  every  clip. 

So  when  he  saw  his  injured  geese, 
His  rage  foretold  a  breach  of  peace; 
He  swore  that  for  this  dastard  trick 
He'd  have  revenge,  and  have  it  quick. 


34  THE  TESTY  DEACON 

Now  he  had  known  for  many  a  day 
Just  where  his  geese  were  wont  to  stray, 
For  sore  complaint  had  oft  been  made 
Of  their  foul  work,  by  neighbor  Slade. 

So,  well  disguised,  the  first  dark  night, 
He  sought  that  neighbor's  barn  for  spite, 
And  from  the  tail  of  his  old  mare 
He  shaved  off  every  blessed  hair. 

Now  Slade,  when  piqued,  raged  like  a  bear, 
(Some  thought  because  he  had  red  hair) 
And  would  the  least  affront  resent 
And  visit  with  dire  punishment. 

And  he  avowed  that  he  alone 
Knew  by  whose  hand  the  deed  was  done, 
For  he'd  pursued  the  freshest  trail, 
And  that  led  straight  to  Deacon  Hale. 


THE  TESTY  DEACON  35 

"My  turn,"  he  said,  "has  come  at  last, 
To  even  up  for  all  the  past, 
And  now  I'll  tan  his  tough  old  hide, 
And  drive  him  from  the  church  beside." 

He  therefore  sought  a  magistrate 
To  whom  he  did  his  object  state, 
Which,  (keeping  mum  about  his  geese) 
Appeared  to  be  the  "public  peace." 

He  then  on  oath  charged  Ephraim  Hale 
With  crime,  in  that  he  did  assail 
And  mutilate  his  old  bay  mare 
By  cutting  off  her  caudal  hair. 

He  further  swore  that  the  offense 
Arose  from  malice,  called  "prepense," 
And  that  the  act  did  violate 
The  peace  and  dignity  of  the  State. 


36  TEE  TESTY  DEACON 

He  therefore  prayed  the  Court  to  grant 
A  warrant  for  the  miscreant, 
Which,  with  a  grave,  judicial  air, 
Was  signed  and  issued  then  and  there. 

'Twas  with  much  craft  that  neighbor  Slade 

On  Saturday,  this  charge  had  made, 

So  that  arrest,  if  on  that  night, 

Would  make  still  worse  the  Deacon's  plight. 

Just  at  the  hour  of  evening  prayers 
Went  forth  the  Sheriff  unawares 
To  mate  arrest  of  Deacon  Hale 
And  take  him  to  the  county  jail. 

The  Deacon  answered  his  loud  knock 
As  struck  the  hour  of  eight  o'clock, 
And  warmly  bade  him  enter  in, 
As  if  he  were  his  fondest  kin. 


TEE  TESTY  DEACON  37 

His  mission  being  soon  explained, 
The  sheriff,  as  if  deeply  pained, 
The  warrant  read,  in  doleful  tones, 
Oft  punctured  by  the  Deacon's  groans. 

Then  Ephraim,  who  was  much  enraged, 
Tore  like  a  tiger  first  encaged, 
And  charged  upon  "that  viper,  Slade," 
The  outrage  of  this  dastard  raid. 

Though  "Mother  Hale"  for  mercy  pled, 
And  grievous  tears  abundant  shed  — 
All  proved  to  be  of  no  avail 
To  save  her  raving  spouse  from  jail. 

Pull  half  that  wretched  night  was  o'er, 
When  swung  the  Jailor's  ponderous  door, 
Through  which  the  Sheriff  quickly  passed 
Together  with  his  charge,  held  fast. 


38  THE  TESTY  DEACON 

The  Deacon  still  with  anger  burned, 
Yet  meekly  to  the  Jailor  turned 
As  if  his  mild,  though  searching  eye, 
Betokened  welcome  sympathy. 

"How  can,"  he  shrieked,  "one  in  my  plight 
Get  from  this  den  this  very  night?" 
"Until  you're  tried,  you  must  get  bail," 
The  Jailor  said,  "or  stay  in  jail." 

"That,"  he  rejoined,  "I'll  do  straightway, 
And  leave  this  hole  ere  break  of  day, 
Then  with  my  wife  to  church  I'll  go, 
And  no  one  of  this  scrape  shall  know. ' ' 

"You  can't  do  that,"  the  Jailor  said, 
"For  Justice  lies  asleep  in  bed; 
Besides,  the  Sabbath's  now  well  on, 
And  that,  in  law,  is  dies  non." 


THE  TESTY  DEACON  39 

The  Deacon  closing  not  his  eyes 
Throughout  that  night  tried  to  devise 
The  means  whereby  he  might  get  bail 
And  quit,  for  good,  that  cursed  jail. 

That  Sabbath  day  he  gave  to  prayer, 

And  thoughts  of  sacred  things  elsewhere; 

His  waiting  home,  his  weeping  wife, 

And  church  he'd  missed  not  once  through  life. 

When  bail,  at  length,  had  been  obtained, 
And  Ephraim  had  his  freedom  gained, 
His  homeward  journey  he  began  — 
A  sadder,  though  much  wiser  man. 

But  from  the  first,  in  church  and  out, 
Were  those  who  never  had  a  doubt 
That  somewhere  there  was  evidence 
To  fix  on  him  that  grave  offense. 


40  THE  TESTY  DEACON 

Therefore  a  meeting  of  the  church 
Was  called  to  instigate  a  search, 
And  members  chosen  by  "the  chair " 
Were  sent  to  view  the  hapless  mare. 

They  found,  indeed,  an  ancient  brute 
Bereft  of  caudal  growth  hirsute, 
But  not  one  fact  to  prove  withal, 
Who  plied  the  art  tonsorial. 

And  so,  their  mission  having  failed, 
(A  fact  which  some  no  doubt  bewailed) 
There  seemed  to  be  no  earthly  clue 
Which  they  with  hope  could  then  pursue. 

But  while  no  headway  had  been  won 
To  show  by  whom  the  deed  was  done, 
A  Tramp  came  sliding  down  the  mow, 
Who  told  by  whom,  and  when,  and  how. 


THE  TESTY  DEACON  41 

He  stated  that,  "On  one  dark  night 
While  in  the  barn,  appeared  a  light," 
And  that  he  "watched  and  saw  old  Hale 
With  sheep-shears  slash  that  hoss's  tail." 

"He  knew,"  he  said,  "the  old  cuss  well," 
And  divers  instances  did  tell, 
When  from  his  watch-dogged  house  he'd  fled, 
While  foraging  for  needful  "bread. 

From  what  they  thus  had  seen  and  heard, 
Their  souls  were  shocked  and  deeply  stirred, 
And  all  agreed,  with  prompt  accord, 
To  put  the  culprit  to  the  sword, 

For  now  the  church  was  up  in  arms, 
(And  for  just  once,  omitted  psalms) ; 
Their  Deacon  was  in  deep  disgrace 
And  in  the  church,  was  out  of  place. 


42  THE  TESTY  DEACON 

From  office  he  was  then  deposed ; 
His  name  was  dropped,  his  pew  was  closed, 
And  neighbor  Slade,  more  strange  than  all, 
Was  chosen  deacon  through  his  fall. 

That  tranquil  town  had  never  known 
Such  tumult  as  was  now  upthrown, 
And  long  it  was,  in  church  and  out, 
Before  its  peace  was  brought  about. 

But  peace  unto  these  life-long  foes 
Has  also  come  to  end  their  woes ; 
Not  peace  begot  of  passions  cooled 
In  hearts  where  once  a  vengeance  ruled, 

But  from  their  being  laid  to  rest 
In  the  old  churchyard's  well-scarred  breast: 
"Tis  just  because  they're  dead,  you  see, 
That  now  they  dwell  in  unity ! 


THE  AWAKENING 


At  length  the  mystic  touch  of  Spring 
Awakes  the  slumbering  forms  of  earth, 

When  Nature,  'neath  her  warming  wing, 
Imparts  her  semblance  of  rebirth. 

Each  bud  now  yearns  to  be  a  flower 
While  yet  its  form  is  scarce  revealed, 

And  visited  by  sun  and  shower 
Is  fondled  by  a  Hand  concealed. 

'Tis  now  that  sympathizing  Spring 
Eestores  what  Autumn  bore  away, 

And  in  her  lavish  hand  doth  bring 
The  blossoms  of  exultant  May, 


44  THE  AWAKENING 

Whose  breath  infuses  every  breeze 
With  odors  and  perfumes  divine, 

Drawn  from  the  blossomed  apple-trees 
And  every  fragrant  bud  and  vine. 

The  wild-geese  drag,  on  tireless  wing, 
Their  steedless  harrow  through  the  sky, 

And  thus  make  known  that  jocund  Spring  — 
Her  apron  filled  with  flowers  —  draws  nigh, 

The  robins  vie  with  sweetest  song 

The  bobolinks  and  orioles  — 
Sweetest  because  suppressed  so  long 

Their  carols  burst  from  brimming  souls. 

We  hear  the  chirp  of  building  birds, 
And  cawing  of  the  high-perched  crows, 

While  from  the  far-off  browsing  herds, 
The  cow-bells'  drowsy  tinkle  flows. 


THE  AWAKENING  45 

The  blackbirds  from  the  meadows  cry; 

The  plover  pipes  from  yonder  bogs, 
And  from  the  stagnant  pool  hard  by 

Eise  languorous  murmurings  of  the  frogs. 

And  all  these  mingled  sounds  create 

A  soul-enchanting  harmony, 
As  one  by  one  they  undulate 

Through  Nature's  throbbing  symphony. 

The  odors  breathed,  the  sights  we  see, 
The  sounds  we  hear,  by  day,  by  night, 

Hold  us  enthralled  in  reverie, 
And  in  a  spell  of  glad  delight. 


. 
JUSTIN  S.  MOBEILL 

(A    SENATOR    OF    THE    UNITED    STATES    FROM    1867 
TO   1899). 

BEAD  AT  A  GATHERING  OF  HIS  FRIENDS  AT  HIS 

RESIDENCE   IN   WASHINGTON 

ON  HIS  EIGHTY-THIRD  BIRTHDAY, 

APRIL   14TH,    1893 

Like  some  o'ertowering  forest  oak  that  still 
Withstands  the  blasts  of  four-score  years  and 

more, 

While  growths  of  younger  years  uprooted  fall ; 
Hoary  with  ripened  leaf,  yet  valiant,  strong; 
Those  rapturous  days  are  once  again  thine  own, 
When  virgin  buds,  kissed  by  the  vernal  sun, 
From  joyful  lips  speak  gratitude. 
We  hail  thee  now,  with  fonder,  firmer  grasp, 


JUSTIN  8.  MORRILL  47 

Thankful  to  Him  who  rales  all  destinies, 
That,  well-nigh  shivered  by  the  furious  blast* 
That  bent  thee  low,  and  made  fond  hearts  de 
spair, 

Thou'rt  left  but  stronger  by  the  gale,  and  still 
Canst  with  thy  friends  rejoice,  this  natal  day, 
To  stand  on  earth,  though  gazing  into  heaven! 

Thy  rest  has  come.    And  with  thy  worth  and 

fame 

So  justly  earned,  nought  can  enhance  thee  more. 
'Twas  when  thy  country,  looted  of  its  hoard  — 
When  treason  sapped  its  heart-blood  and  its 

life  - 
That  thou  didst  touch  the  well-spring  with  thy 

wand,  ^; 

And  from  it  gushed  the  vital  stream  that  saved. 
And  though  thy  country's  deepest,  foulest  stain 
Must  needs  be  washed  away  in  blood  and  tears, 


A  serious  illness. 


48  JUSTIN  S.  MOERILL 

The  fettered  have  been  freed,  and  hushed  the 

din 

Of  cursed  war,  whose  awful  uproar  once 
Convulsed  the  troubled  land  from  sea  to  sea. 
Saved  is  the  State,  and  hostile  cannon  now 
Are  moulded  into  pyramids  of  peace ! 
And  lo,  the  temple  thou  hast  helped  to  rear 
To  justice  long  by  fate  denied,  now  marks 
The  uplift  of  a  race  enslaved 
Toward  the  birth-born,  blood-gained  rights  of 

man. 

Old  friend, 
Thy  well-earned  rest  has  come.    A  grateful 

State 
Whose  weal  was  known,  and  served  so  long,  so 

well, 

E  'en  now  would  lay  fresh  garlands  on  thy  brow ; 
But  needing  nought  to  make  thy  fame  endure, 
It  prays  that  thou  shalt  have  forevermore, 
That  lasting  peace  thou  hast  for  others  won! 


THE  WOODS 


Fain  to  the  vaulted  woods  I  go,  where  solitude 

doth  reign, 
And  seat  me  on  some  lichened  rock  —  a  brief 

surcease  to  gain  — 
From  turmoil  of  the  market-place,  where  greed 

with  covin  vies, 
And  human  souls  are  bought  and  sold,  as  well 

as  merchandise. 

Here  would  I  breathe  the  balsamed  air,  the 

freshness  of  the  trees, 
And  listen  to  the  song  of  birds,  and  hum  of 

gathering  bees ; 
Ah,  here  is  peace,  supernal  peace,  a  paradise 

regained, 


50  TEE  WOODS 

Where  every  care  of  life  is  lost,  and  blissful  rest 
attained. 

Here  spread  the  hemlock's  feathery  wings ;  here 

lift  the  stately  pines ; 
And  here  the  birches  whiter  seem,  by  ruddy, 

clinging  vines; 
Here,  too,  the  fruitful  chestnuts  tower,  and  in 

the  lengthening  year, 
With    bursting    burrs    and    shining   nuts    the 

scampering  squirrels  cheer. 

On  yonder  spruce,  now  spectral  grown,  and  aged 

with  countless  ills, 
The  lone  woodpecker  urgent  raps  —  then  listens 

where  he  drills  — 
To  hear  the  toiling  insect  stir,  where  strips  of 

bark  yet  cling, 
Then  raps  again  till  one  is  found,  then  flies  on 

fleeter  wing. 


THE  WOODS  51 

I  hear  the  cawing  crows  above,  that  fly  against 

the  breeze, 
And  then  the  locust 's  ceaseless  chirr  that  comes 

from  distant  trees; 
The  nimble  chipmunk's  call  I  hear,  that  brings 

her  wandering  young, 
To  share  with  her  some  early  nut,  now  dropt 

from  where  it  clung. 

Where  yonder  tasseled  alders  grow,  with  pussy 
willows  near, 

A  gurgling  rill  meanders  by  to  lull  the  wearied 
ear, 

Whose  murmuring  voice  is  half  suppressed  by 
low,  overhanging  banks, 

Which  marvel  at  its  tortuous  course,  and  other 
playful  pranks. 

The  trillium  and  anemone,  throughout  each 
summer  day, 


52  THE  WOODS 

Waft  their  sweet  kisses  back  and  forth  across 

the  rippling  way; 
And  thinking  they  are  quite  unseen,  they  give 

the  world  no  thought, 
But  mirrored  in  that  tell-tale  brook  are  all 

their  amours  caught. 

But  hark !  I  hear  the  partridge  drum,  to  call  his 

absent  mate; 
And  then  the  silver-throated  thrush  his  ecstacies 

relate. 
The  veeries  and  the  vireos  make  all  the  woods 

rejoice, 
And  rapture  comes  when  whippoorwills  add 

their  exultant  voice. 

Thus  Nature's  untrained  orchestra  doth  cheer 

the  pensive  soul, 
And  countless  other  joys  are  found  to  comfort 

and  console; 


THE  WOODS  53 

And  while  a  grateful  memory  clings  to  trans 
ports  that  have  passed, 

If  some,  perchance,  shall  be  forgot,  these  sure 
shall  be  the  last. 


THE  EETUEN 


From  native  village,  years  away, 
I  once  more  trod  its  lonely  street 

The  morning  of  a  summer's  day, 
Nor  saw  one  face  to  know  and  greet. 

And  here,  anon,  I  paused  to  view 
Some  once-familiar  spot,  but  lo, 

No  trace  remained  of  what  I  knew, 
For  all  had  vanished  long  ago. 

I  crossed  the  bridge  where  once  the  stream 
Ean  deep  and  dark  and  hurriedly, 

But  now  I  saw  —  how  like  a  dream  — 
Its  waters  ripple  languidly. 


THE  RETURN  55 

I  sought,  near  by,  the  school-house  where 

In  torment  of  captivity, 
The  droning,  dawdling  days  spent  there 

Were  to  me  like  eternity. 

Though  here  I'd  bent  to  many  a  task 
Throughout  my  boyhood,  year  by  year, 

Desertion  stared,  and  seemed  to  ask: 
"What  stranger  is  now  sauntering  here?" 

Hard  by,  the  " meeting-house"  still  stood 
Where  on  each  Sabbath  old  and  young 

Met  as  in  common  brotherhood 

To  worship  God  with  reverent  tongue. 

How  memory  now  brought  to  my  view 

Those  childhood  friends  I  here  had  known  — 

All  seated  in  the  same  old  pew 
As  if,  since  then,  no  years  had  flown. 


56  THE  RETURN 

Of  these,  methought,  how  many  score 
Had,  in  their  last  majestic  state, 

Been  borne  from  out  its  ample  door 

To  pass,  nay  more,  yon  churchyard  gate. 

I  entered  there  among  the  dead, 

And  strolled  past  many  a  chiselled  stone 
At  which  I  paused  and  slowly  read 

The  name  of  some  remembered  one. 

Such  caravan  of  years  had  passed 

Since  I  this  hallowed  ground  had  trod, 

'Twas  now  a  teeming  city  massed 
With  those  whose  souls  repose  with  God. 

With  sadder  heart  I  wandered  through 
The  neighboring  aisles  still  narrower, 

That  I  might  find,  and  once  more  view, 
The  sacred  spot  where  kindred  were, 


TEE  RETURN  57 

When  lo,  I  saw  uprising  near, 
A  shaft  from  spotless  marble  hewed  — 

Pure  as  an  angePs  frozen  tear  — 
Fit  emblem  of  their  lives  renewed. 

Though  sadder  made  by  lingering  here, 

Begretfully  I  onward  passed, 
The  more,  because  I  could  but  fear 

That  this  brief  view  might  be  my  last. 

Yet  be  it  so,  'tis  joy  to  know 
That  here  such  benedictions  rest  — 

Where  flowers  of  sweeter  fragrance  grow, 
In  tribute  to  the  loved  and  blest  — 

Where  blithesome  birds  that  gladden  spring, 
Eenounce  their  earlier-chosen  ways, 

And  hither  fly,  on  fleeter  wing, 
To  sing  their  sweetest  roundelays ; 


58  THE  RETURN 

And  where,  forsaking  other  bowers, 
The  humming-birds  and  honey  bees 

Bring  sweets  first  drawn  from  other  flowers 
To  dwell  more  blissful  here  with  these, 

Where  mingled  with  the  birds  of  song 
They  find  delight  unknown  before, 

And  my  entreaty  would  prolong 
Their  visitation  evermore. 


THE  PATRIARCH  OAK 


Surmounting  lofty  crags  and  cliffs, 
And  bent  by  Time's  remorseless  blast, 

An  ancient  oak  its  form  uplifts, 
Defiant  now  as  through  the  past. 

And  here,  on  Horicon's  wild  shore, 

It  gazes  back  on  centuries, 
And  through  a  life  of  twenty  score 

Of  years  replete  with  memories. 

Hard  by,  a  younger  oak  doth  stand  — 
Fit  offspring  of  this  noble  sire  — 

Prepared  to  stretch  its  helpful  hand 
Should  failing  strength  its  aid  require. 


60  THE  PATRIARCH  OAK 

And  tongued  with  Nature's  mystic  words, 
They  closer  lean  as  they  commune, 

While  in  their  shade  the  grateful  herds 
Eepose  through  afternoons  of  June. 

One  day,  the  scion  speaking,  said : 
"Thou,  sire,  dost  seem  the  oldest  here; 

Bent  is  thy  form  and  gray  thy  head, 
And  death,  e'en  now,  may  loiter  near, 

"For  in  the  last  relentless  storm, 
Oft  didst  thou  groan  as  if  in  pain; 

Enraged  it  shook  thy  quivering  form, 
And  well-nigh  laid  thee  with  the  slain. 

"While  yet  thy  thews  are  tough  and  strong, 
With  mind  composed  and  memory  clear, 

Eelate  at  length,  in  prose  or  song, 
The  early  scenes  enacted  here, 


THE  PATRIARCH  OAK  61 

"When  in  that  primal  solitnde 

Which  knew  no  voice,  nor  scarce  a  sound 
Throughout  its  vast  infinitude 

All  Nature  seemed  but  more  profound." 

"On  such  a  theme  I  fain  would  dwell," 

Eeplied  the  Patriarch  of  old, 
"And  ere  I'm  called  to  bid  farewell, 

My  willing  story  shall  be  told." 

And  it  spoke  not  a  language  rude 
Like  that  of  wild-men  it  had  heard, 

But  one  the  Dryads  understood, 
Which  bore  no  sound,  yet  never  erred. 

So,  on  that  reminiscent  day, 

The  Patriarch  its  silence  broke, 
And  in  a  grave,  impressive  way 

Discoursed  at  length,  and  thus  it  spoke : 


62  THE  PATRIARCH  OAK 

"Long  ere  the  white  man  found  his  way 
To  these  forbidding  solitudes, 

The  baneful  savage  here  held  sway  — 
Involved  in  ceaseless  tribal  feuds. 

"And  here  he  fought  his  mortal  foes 
So  long  as  yet  survived  a  brave, 

And  every  root  beneath  me  knows 
And  wanders  to  some  sachem's  grave. 

"So  if  till  now  I  have  been  spared, 
(Though  centuries  I  can  retrace) 

It  is  because  my  sinews  shared 
The  vigor  of  that  virile  race. 

"Then,  silence  here  was  so  profound 
That  even  Nature  seemed  oppressed, 

And  as  if  grateful  for  the  sound 
That  roused  her  from  that  languid  rest, 


THE  PATRIARCH  OAK  63 

"As  when  some  towering  forest  tree 
Long  rent  by  tempests,  year  by  year, 

Fell  prostrate  mid  the  earth's  debris, 
And  crashing,  startled  every  ear; 

"Or  when  some  furious  wind-storm  swept 
The  slumbering  lake  with  loud  uproar, 

The  waves,  like  frenzied  chargers  leapt, 
And  broke  in  fragments  on  its  shore ; 

"Or  when  some  famished  wild-beast  caught 
The  trail  to  which  a  scent  still  clung, 

With  prey  at  bay,  it  snarled  and  fought 
To  rob  some  mother  of  her  young, 

"For  where  in  safety  children  share 

Their  joyful  pastimes  of  to-day, 
Then  roamed  the  panther,  wolf  and  bear, 

Eelentless  in  their  search  of  prey. 


64  THE  PATRIARCH  OAK 

"But  fiercer  than  the  famished  beast  — 
Whose  lust  for  blood  no  hand  could  stay- 

Were  those  red  demons,  when,  unleashed, 
They  sprang  from  ambush  for  the  fray. 

"And  through  those  years  of  endless  strife, 
Scant  was  the  spot  on  this  fair  shore 

Which  tomahawk  and  scalping-knife 
Had  not  oft  stained  with  human  gore. 

"But  long  at  rest,  those  warring  braves  — 
The  Algonquins  and  Iroquois  — 

Have  slumbered  in  their  sunken  graves, 
No  more  their  ambush  to  employ. 

"The  first  white  man  to  venture  here 
Was  Father  Jogues,  by  Jesuits  sent  — 

A  missionary  pioneer  — 

Who  called  the  lake  ' Saint  Sacrament.' 


TEE  PATRIARCH  OAK  65 

"And  here  that  pious  man  long  dwelt 
To  teach  the  Indians  Christian  faith, 

Not  knowing,  when  in  prayer  he  knelt, 
What  hand  might  deal  an  instant  death.* 

"Long  here  the  French  and  English  fought  — 
Their  royal  standards  to  uprear  — 

But  by  vain  struggle  they  were  taught 
That  empires  were  exotic  here. 

"On  yonder  field  their  legions  met 
And  clenched  like  athletes  for  the  fray, 

Where  Dieskau  gained  the  first  onset, 
But  Johnson  later  won  the  day. 

"And  leading  where  no  other  dared, 
Intrepid  Williams,  ambushed,  fell, 

Of  whose  brave  men  scarce  one  was  spared 
The  horrors  of  the  scene  to  tell  — 


*He  fell  a  martyr  to  the  faith  in  1646,  being  brutally 
murdered  by  the  Mohawks,  among  whom  he  was  then  laboring 
as  missionary. 


66  THE  PATRIARCH  OAK 

"  Where  noble  Hendrick,  too,  was  led 

To  perish  in  that  slaughter-pen, 
Where  he  was  found  strewn  with  the  dead 

Which  filled,  breast-high,  that  sombre  glen, 

"I  saw  the  valiant  troops  of  France 
Sail  through  the  lake  in  proud  array, 

When  Montcalm  made  his  bold  advance, 
And  savage  allies  led  the  way  — 

"The  way  to  where  they  saw  afar 
Fort  William  Henry,  bastion-walled, 

At  whose  unsparing  massacre 
Humanity  has  stood  appalled; 

"Where  thirst  for  blood  was  only  quenched 

By  tomahawking  every  brain, 
Until  the  death-strewn  soil  was  drenched 

By  dripping  piles  of  mangled  slain. 


THE  PATRIARCH  OAK  67 

"I  later  saw  the  buoyant  troops 

Of  Abercrombie's  mighty  fleet, 
When  through  the  lake  his  crowded  sloops 

Bore  on  his  men  to  doomed  defeat. 

"That  spectacle  no  pen  forgets, 
Where  banners  waved  with  flags  uprun 

Mid  flashing  arms  and  bayonets, 
Eesplendent  in  that  July  sun. 

"No  eye  discerned  that  awful  fate 
Which  soon,  too  soon,  they  were  to  know, 

When  those  who  now  were  so  elate 
Were  to  go  down  before  the  foe, 

"Where    thrice,    those    legions  —  strong    and 
brave  — 

'Gainst  Montcalm's  serried  lines  were  thrown, 
To  meet  repulse  and  find  a  grave, 
But  make  that  field  a  Marathon. 


68  THE  PATRIARCH  OAK 

"And  where  thine  eyes  are  resting  now, 
Near  yonder  field  of  waving  grain, 

All  England's  pride  —  the  peerless  Howe  — 
First  fell  among  his  gallant  slain. 

' '  Ticonderoga  —  that  stronghold  — 
Was  won  and  lost,  and  won  again, 

And  by  its  fate  alike  was  told 

The  gain  or  loss  of  Lake  Champlain, 

"  Where  Allen  won  immortal  fame 
By  taking  with  his  doughty  band 

(And  in  the  Great  Jehovah's  name) 
The  fortress  and  its  whole  command; 

"When  England  first  was  made  to  feel, 
In  that  brief  hour  of  dawning  light, 

What  blows  Green  Mountain  Boys  could  deal 
When  armored  in  the  cause  of  right. 


THE  PATRIARCH  OAK  69 

• 
"Hard  by,  were  Arnold's  vessels  built 

(If  built  they  were  when  half  complete) 
With  which  that  traitor,  ere  his  guilt, 

At  Valcour  fought  the  British  fleet ; 

"Where,  manned  by  those  intrepid  sons, 
E'en  with  a  fleet  so  crudely  wrought, 

He  well-nigh  silenced  Carleton's  guns  — 
Near  twice  his  own  —  for  Spartans  fought  — 

"  Fought  to  the  last  expiring  breath 
To  rend  their  shackles  and  be  free, 

And  welcomed  nought  so  much  as  death, 
If  vassals  they  must  longer  be  — 

"Nay,  fought  as  only  those  can  fight, 
Who,  writhing  'neath  a  despot's  heel, 

Rise  up  at  last  in  awful  might. 
And  make  to  God  their  last  appeal. 


70  THE  PATRIARCH  OAK 

' '  And  later  still  I  heard  the  roar 
Of  distant  guns  that  anxious  day, 

When  England  sought,  as  at  Valcour, 
To  worst  our  fleet  at  Plattsburg  Bay, 

"But  where  her  vaunted  ships  instead 
Were  crushed  as  tigers  crush  their  prey, 

Till  torn  and  tattered  to  a  shred, 
They  struck  their  colors  in  dismay ; 

"Where  scornful  England  soon  was  taught 

Her  impotency  on  the  wave, 
And  that  where  'er  McDonough  fought, 

There,  too,  she'd  find  a  waiting  grave. 

"War's  ugly  sound  so  constant  here 
Throughout  those  tragic  days  of  yore, 

No  longer  plagues  the  harassed  ear, 
For  peace  now  gladdens  every  shore, 


TEE  PATRIARCH  OAK  71 

"And  where  imperial  armies  fought 

To  gain  this  virgin  continent, 
A  providential  Hand  hath  wrought 

A  free,  benignant  government, 

"Whose  sovereign  is  the  people's  will, 
Expressed  by  all,  denied  to  none ; 

And  here  the  conflict  raged  until 

That  righteous  cause  at  last  was  won. 

"And  here  was  planted  and  enshrined 

The  sacred  tree  of  Liberty, 
Whose  outstretched  branches,  intertwined, 

Are  sought  by  all  humanity. 

1  l  Q(\     TlPTO 


72  THE  PATRIARCH  OAK 

"But  death's  approach  I  feel  is  near 

(For  now  my  strength  is  waning  fast) 
And  when  I  go  will  disappear 

Those  sires  of  whom  I  am  the  last. 

• 

"Thou  shalt  live  on,  and  living  see 

The  baneful  savage  nevermore; 
Where  curled  the  smoke  from  his  tepee, 

From  workshop  now  it  doth  outpour; 

"And  where  his  dreaded  war-whoop  broke 

The  spell  of  Nature's  reverie, 
There  now  is  heard  the  anvil- stroke, 

And  ceaseless  whirr  of  industry. 

"Nought,  nought  remains  where  once  he  trod, 

To  tell  that  he  abided  here, 
Save  the  rude  flint,  turned  with  the  sod, 

And  soon  this,  too,  shall  disappear. 


THE  PATRIARCH  OAK  73 

"Farewell!  May  Heaven  thy  years  prolong, 

Yet  not  more  cursed  war  to  see 
Save  to  redress  some  grievous  wrong, 

But  lasting  peace  thy  country's  be!" 


SLEEP 


0  Sleep,  whose  subtle  anodynes 
Doth  drug  the  sentries  of  the  soul 
To  hold  an  hostage  for  repose ; 
That  with  fresh-minted  coin  doth  fill 
Exhausted  Nature's  empty  purse, 
Thou  art  life's  sovereign  comforter, 
That  respite  brings  to  drudging  toil, 
To  brooding  care,  and  throbbing  grief. 
There  is  no  pain  thou  canst  not  soothe; 
No  anguish  thou  canst  not  assuage. 
Impartial,  too,  thy  boon  is  given, 
For  both  to  peasant  and  to  king, 
To  those  in  gladness  or  despair, 
Thou  art  the  equal  almoner. 
Inconstant  as  the  rainbow's  hue, 


SLEEP  75 

And  moved  by  nought  save  thy  caprice, 

No  malediction  can  coerce, 

Nor  supplication  lure  thee  on. 

But  when  thy  visitation  comes, 

The  sceptred  soul  abjures  its  throne 

And  kneels  a  vassal  at  thy  feet. 

The  boisterous  pulse  of  life  is  calmed; 

The  tumult  of  the  world  is  hushed ; 

Oblivion  throws  its  mantle  o'er 

The  graven  tablets  of  the  brain, 

And  fancy's  noiseless  loom  then  weaves 

From  languor's  skein  of  tangled  thread 

The  wondrous  tapestry  of  dreams. 


THE  MONAECH 


Tempus  edax  renew 

Behold !  —  the  Monarch,  Time,  am  I, 
Whom  none  shall  balk,  nor  dare  deny. 
The  oldest  sovereign  of  the  earth 
Found  me  entrenched  here  at  his  birth, 
For  long  ere  mortal  crown  was  worn, 
Or  king  or  potentate  was  born, 
The  mandates  from  my  ancient  throne 
Eesounded  here  from  zone  to  zone. 
Thus  I'm  supreme  in  every  clime 
Though  deeds  like  mine  are  made  a  crime 
If  done,  perchance,  by  human  hand  — 
An  outlaw  made  throughout  the  land. 
And  though  man  execrates  my  deeds, 


THE  MONARCH  77 

And  piteously  for  mercy  pleads, 
What  care  I  what  his  praise  may  be, 
Or  his  anathema  of  me! 
Since  neither  blandishment  nor  curse 
Can  ever  coax  me  or  coerce. 

My  mission  here  is  to  despoil  — 

To  do  it  well,  my  only  toil  — 

So  well,  indeed,  that  nevermore 

Shall  that  thing  live  that  lived  before, 

And  envy  tells  no  rival  how 

To  snatch  the  laurel  from  my  brow. 

And  would 'st  thou  know  what  I've  achieved! 
Ask  the  despairing  —  the  bereaved  — 
Eecount  the  races,  puissant,  vast, 
That  roamed  the  earth  in  ages  past, 
The  outlines  of  whose  crumbling  tomb 
Are  lost  in  ever-deepening  gloom. 


78  THE  MONARCH 

That  I  am  partial  to  no  friend 

Or  spite  a  foe,  none  will  contend. 

I  have  no  friend,  but  half  my  foes 

Would  outcount  flakes  of  Arctic  snows. 

Because  my  victims  well  obey, 

(Oft  with  scant  time  to  kneel  and  pray) 

No  armies  I  employ  to  awe, 

Or  force  submission  to  my  law, 

Yet  Christian  lands  denounce  me  when 

Their  thrones  drip  with  the  blood  of  men. 

I  delve  at  noonday  and  at  night, 
(For  my  vocation  needs  no  light) 
And  on  with  muffled  feet  I  stride 
As  noiseless  as  the  lifting  tide, 
And  wake  not  those  who,  if  they  sleep, 
May  cease  for  one  brief  hour  to  weep. 
And  since  hale  youth  is  ever  mine, 
Of  weariness  I  show  no  sign 
At  close  of  day,  nor  yet  the  year, 
In  loading  death  upon  my  bier, 


TEE  MONARCH  79 

Nor  reaching  down  into  the  grave 
To  turn  to  dust  what  Nature  gave. 

Behold  my  work  already  done 
"With  yet  my  purpose  scarce  begun ! 
Where  tropic  suns  now  smite  the  earth, 
Gleamed  icebergs  once,  of  ponderous  girth; 
Where  ocean  billows  once  lept  high, 
Now  Chimborazo  cleaves  the  sky; 
Where  primal  Rome  was  hewn  and  reared, 
Five  Romes  in  turn  have  disappeared; 
Where  Carthage  held  imperial  sway, 
Wild  forest  beasts  now  seek  their  prey, 
And  where  loomed  Karnak's  mighty  walls, 
The  sluggish  reptile  creeps  and  crawls  — 
All  ages  past  to  me  appear 
Like  yesterdays,  and  quite  as  near. 

The  lord  of  skies  and  seas  and  lands, 

I  spare  no  work  of  human  hands. 

The  sculptured  forms  by  genius  wrought, 


80  THE  MONARCH 

The  monuments  where  heroes  fought, 

The  courts  where  kings  look  down  from  thrones, 

The  pantheons  where  lie  their  bones, 

The  fanes  upreared  by  pious  hands, 

The  pyramids  on  Egypt's  sands  — 

Where  mouldering  Pharoah  mummies  lie 

Concealed  to  cheat  my  searching  eye  — 

Man's  castles  and  his  rustic  homes, 

His  temples  with  their  gilded  domes, 

His  campaniles  and  his  towers 

Where  tolls  the  knell  of  passing  hours; 

His  treasures,  trophies,  battle-won, 

His  states  and  empires,  one  by  one, 

Alike  shall  perish  with  the  rest, 

And  turn  to  dust,  at  my  behest. 

Yet  mark,  withal,  what  still  shall  be, 
And  nought  can  frustrate  my  decree. 
Proud  ^Etna's  flames  no  more  shall  burn, 
Nor  glaciers  freeze  and  melt  in  turn ; 


TEE  MONARCH  81 

Unfathomed  oceans,  dark  and  drear, 
Shall  vanish  like  a  transient  tear; 
To  nebulae  I'll  change  the  earth 
And  thus  restore  its  primal  dearth; 
I'll  pluck  the  planets  from  the  skies, 
(Which  dazzle  now  man's  wondering  eyes) 
And  then  blot  out  the  blazing  sun 
And  turn  to  vapor,  whence  begun ; 
Then,  midst  the  ruin  I  have  wrought, 
And  desolation  —  nothing  aught  — 
Behold  me  seated  on  my  throne  — 
A  Monarch  still  —  though  left  alone! 


ON  A  DEW  DEOP 


What  is  that  chaste,  that  sparkling  thing, 
Which  to  the  rose  at  dawn  doth  cling, 
And  nestled  to  its  throbbing  breast, 
Plays  ardent  lover  while  a  guest? 

'Tis  but  a  tear  of  weeping  night  — 
The  weeping  of  a  glad  delight  — 
Till  startled  by  obtruding  day, 
Night,  fearing  capture,  steals  away. 


ODE  TO  A  BULLFINCH 


A  captive  made,  as  if  some  baneful  beast 
And  not  the  inoffending  thing  thou  art, 
"Tis  strange  that  thou  shouldst  still  have  heart 

for  song, 

Or  evermore  disport,  or  blithesome  be, 
Afar  from  groves   that   sheltered   thee  when 

young, 

Where  still  thy  kindred  in  their  freedom  dwell 
And  harken  for  thy  voice  —  thy  fate  unknown  — 
Disheartened  at  thy  absence,  so  prolonged. 
Full  much  my  guilty  heart  doth  me  reproach 
When  I  reflect  what  unprovoked  wrong 
My  selfish  greed  has  done  thee,  gentle  one, 
The  more  because  thou  knowest  well  my  deed, 


84  ODE  TO  A  BULLFINCH 

Which  deeper  makes  regret  that  not  atones. 
Yet,  no  resentment  plagues  thy  placid  breast, 
Such  as,  for  half  thy  cause,  man  would  avenge, 
But,  unlike  him,  a  guerdon  thou  dost  give 
By  gladdening  all  the  day  with  such  rare  song 
As  would  dishearten  sirens  should  they  hear, 
Or  nightingale  mistake  for  some  lost  mate. 
But  lo,  the  tranquil  twilight  hour  has  come  — 
All-hallowed  by  the  vesper  thou  hast  sung  — 
And  I  must  bid  thee  loath  farewell  till  morn. 
Till  then,  may  peace  pervade  the  downy  breast 
Which  folds  that  all-forgiving  heart  of  thine  — 
Peace  undeserved  by  that  one  robbed  of  me ! 


A  GENTLE  MAIDEN  DO  I  KNOW 


A  gentle  maiden  do  I  know 
Who  so  bewilders  human  eyes, 

That  when  beheld,  it  seems  as  though 
One  angel  less  dwelt  in  the  skies. 

In  her  so  much  of  the  divine 
Is  shown  in  her  seraphic  face, 

'Twere  fitting  that  by  Heaven's  design 
Her  home  should  be  some  holy  place. 

Her  smile  is  like  a  radiant  flower  — 
The  blossom  of  her  blithesome  heart  — 

One  unconstrained,  and  borne  each  hour 
By  native  grace  that  knows  no  art. 


86          A  GENTLE  MAIDEN  DO  I  KNOW 

Her  lips  are  like  two  rosebuds  grown 

In  touch  upon  a  single  stem, 
Which,    when    she    smiles,    burst    forth    full 
blown — 

Sunshine  itself  seems  born  of  them. 

Her  voice  is  softer  than  that  heard 
When  doves  croon  to  their  helpless  young, 

With  pathos  of  some  mate-lost  bird 
Whose  plaint  till  then  had  been  unsung. 

Her  eyes  are  that  celestial  blue 

That  deepens  with  the  summer  shower, 

And  would  by  tenderness  subdue 
All  threat  of  dark  and  evil  power. 

Her  blush  is  like  a  damask  rose 
Concealed  in  some  vine-tangled  wall, 

But  when  exposed,  benignly  throws 
Its  prisoned  glory  over  all. 


A  GENTLE  MAIDEN  DO  I  KNOW         87 

In  her  all  graces  are  so  blent 

In  one  embodied  loveliness, 
That  on  her  one  could  gaze  content 

Through  life  —  if  he  could  not  caress  I 


AN  AMOEETTE 


The  favoring  stars  shine  o'er  my  head, 
For  now  the  lingering  day  hath  fled, 
Whose  loitering  hours  seemed  years  to  me, 
Because  they  held  me  far  from  thee. 

Behold,  and  with  compassion's  eyes, 
Thy  lover  who  with  longing  sighs, 
And  hear  the  message  of  his  heart, 
Which  of  thine  own  seems  but  a  part. 

That  message  is  its  fervent  prayer, 
Which  long  repressed,  still  smothers  there, 
Yet  shouldst  thou  hear  it  with  disdain, 
Love's  quenchless  fire  would  still  remain. 


AN  AMORETTE  89 

But  helpless  as  Prometheus  bound, 
And  like  him,  bleeding  with  my  wonnd, 
I  bring  to  thee  a  heart  aglow, 
That  my  wild  passion  thou  shalt  know, 

Which  thirsts  thee  as  the  burning  plain 
Thirsts  for  the  long-belated  rain, 
With  love  as  pure,  and  strong,  and  deep, 
As  Gulf  Stream  currents  where  they  sweep. 

Some  fairy  would  I  gladly  be, 
To  serve  thy  bidding  constantly  — 
To  shield  thee  from  all  evil  eyes, 
And  guard  thy  self-made  paradise ; 

I'd  lure  the  birds  from  chosen  climes 
To  sing  for  thee  their  sweetest  rhymes, 
For  thy  rare  beauty  would  inspire 
Their  raptured  souls  with  that  desire. 


90  AN  AMORETTE 

Unseen,  I'd  watch  the  gathering  bee, 
And  where  he  sipped  I'd  pluck  for  thee 
The  sweetest  flowers  that  bud  and  bloom, 
To  shed  round  thee  their  rare  perfume. 

I  'd  guard  thy  slumbers  through  the  night, 
And  prompt  for  thee  dreams  of  delight  — 
Dreams  of  some  far-off  world  of  bliss, 
For  thou  wert  made  too  pure  for  this. 

0  harken,  I  implore  thee  now 

To  that  heart-longing  I  avow, 

Then  but  one  favoring  smile  bestow, 

And  teach  me  heaven's  own  joy  to  know, 

Or  if,  when  thou  art  wrapped  in  sleep, 
One  tender  thought  of  me  may  creep 
Into  thy  visions,  unsuppressed, 
In  rapture,  then,  this  heart  shall  rest! 


CAPTIVITY 


Thy  tender,  thoughtful,  earnest  eyes  — 
Within  their  tranquil  depths  there  lies 
A  magic  power,  unknown  to  thee, 
That  chains  me  in  captivity. 

The  morning  light  the  brighter  grows 
Wherever  their  effulgence  flows, 
And  e'en  at  night,  their  potent  ray 
Converts  the  darkness  into  day  — • 

A  day  so  bright  with  their  own  light 
That  should  each  star  and  satellite, 
Nay,  every  planet  cease  to  blaze, 
Night's  darkest  hours  would  rival  day's. 


92  CAPTIVITY 

So  would  ones  pathway  through  the  years 
Of  life's  contending  hopes  and  fears, 
Be  made  one  blissful,  hallowed  spell, 
Should  such  supernal  light  there  dwell. 


I  THINK  OF  THEE 


I  think  of  thee  when,  dim  and  gray, 
Belated,  drowsy  night  is  roused, 
And  loath  to  go,  half-clad  and  slow, 

Kecedes  before  advancing  day. 

I  think  of  thee  when  anxious  care 

Enslaves  me  through  the  drudging  day, 
But  toil  were  sweet,  with  joy  replete, 

Could  I  for  thee  my  burdens  bear. 

I  think  of  thee  with  fonder  heart 
When  Day,  embracing  timid  Night, 
Prolongs  his  kiss  of  rapturous  bliss 

Like  lovers  when  enforced  to  part. 


94  /  THINK  OF  THEE 

And  when,  at  last,  I  seek  repose, 

On  thee  my  craving  dreams  still  feast, 
Yet  when  I  wake  and  dreams  forsake, 

My  yearning  but  intenser  grows. 

Thus  throbs  my  heart  unceasingly 
From  dawn  to  dark,  from  dark  to  dawn, 
In  wild  desire,  a  quenchless  fire, 

Till  smothered  by  eternity! 


A  MEMORY 

I  gazed  on  such  a  beanteons  face, 
And  form  of  such  surpassing  grace, 
That  had  some  genius  e'er  portrayed 
The  peerless  creature  I  surveyed, 
Then  would  the  lustre  of  his  name 
Have  brighter  made  the  page  of  fame. 

While  thus  I  gazed,  intent,  beguiled, 
The  face,  as  if  unconscious,  smiled, 
When  o  'er  a  harp  flew  two  white  hands 
Like  mated  swallows  o'er  the  sands. 
Methought  what  wondrous  magic  brings 
Such  melting  strains  from  those  mute  strings 

But  Nature  had  no  gift  denied, 

Or  grace,  where  countless  others  vied, 


96  A  MEMORY 

For  when  she  sang,  methought  such  notes 
Could  only  come  from  angel  throats,     • 
Since  nought  but  those  could  ever  hear 
The  sweetness  of  the  ones  heard  there. 

First  came  the  warble  of  a  bird; 
Then  but  a  human  voice  was  heard; 
Then  some  still  more  impassioned  strain 
Infused  my  pulse,  and  thrilled  my  brain  — 
As  o  'er  the  strand  the  billows  roll, 
These  lapped  and  laved  my  raptured  soul. 

But  vain  indeed  it  were  to  ask 

Of  artist  hand  —  unequal  task  — 

To  counterfeit  the  grace  divine 

Embodied  there  in  every  line, 

For  e'en  had  Eaphael  sought  to  trace 

The  beauty  of  that  form  and  face, 

The  vision  would  have  dazed  his  brain, 

And  moveless  must  his  hand  have  lain! 


THE  SLUGGAKD 


God  help  the  man,  in  all  whose  days, 
No  worthy  deed  is  found  to  praise; 
Who  has  in  life  no  aim  or  end 
Beyond  the  pleasures  it  may  lend ; 
Who  never  soiled  his  palms  by  work, 
And  never  will,  if  he  can  shirk ; 
Who  with  no  useful  calling  learned 
Has  never  yet  a  dollar  earned; 
Who  shifts  and  shirks  whatever  he  can, 
Imposing  on  his  fellowman 
The  burdens  they  alike  should  bear, 
And  have  for  him  no  thought  or  care  — 
Who  wears  the  latest  cut  in  clothes 
And  for  each  stitch,  his  tailor  owes; 
Who  asks  you  for  "just  one  more  loan, 


98  THE  SLUGGARD 

Yet  to  repay  one,  ne'er  was  known; 
Who  deems  life  a  consummate  bore, 
And  each  day  worse  than  that  before, 
Yet,  like  a  spendthrift,  seeks  to  borrow 
For  use  to-day,  hours  of  the  morrow; 
Who  every  font  of  pleasure  dries, 
And  no  voluptuous  sense  denies  — 
A  drifting  hulk  on  life's  high  sea, 
Attain!  with  moral  leprosy  — 
God  help,  I  say,  this  worthless  man; 
No  other  will ;  He  only  can ! 


,  .1 

K    ->.; 


UNDAUNTED 


Day,  lingering  in  the  darkening  West 

Lifts  high  the  taper  in  his  hand, 
Whose  purple  rays  benignly  rest, 

Where    hurrying    Night    shall    straightway 
stand. 

Throughout  the  heaven's  vaulted  height 
Hang  twilight  lamps,  now  burning  low, 

Which,  as  they  spy  the  goddess,  Night, 
Salute  her  with  their  brightest  glow. 

She,  stealing  from  her  curtained  bowers, 
Where  resting  she  hath  hidden  lain, 

Eesumes  her  vigil  through  the  hours 
To  guard,  in  turn,  Day's  vast  domain. 


100  UNDAUNTED 

Together,  they,  like  sentinels, 
Patrolled  the  centuries  that  were, 

Which,  huddled  in  their  mouldy  cells 
Now  rest  in  Time's  vast  sepulchre. 

Since  parting  at  primeval  dawn 
When  last  he  saw  her  beauteous  face, 

Day  hath  pursued  this  nimble  fawn 
With  longing  heart,  and  eager  pace. 

Unwearied  by  his  futile  chase ; 

Undaunted,  too,  by  cruel  fate, 
But  yearning  for  one  fond  embrace, 

Each  morn  he  bursts  the  Orient  gate. 

His  passion  now  resistless  grown, 
He  throws  his  arms  from  roseate  bowers, 

But  timid  Night,  alert,  hath  flown ;  — 
Behold!  her  tears  drip  from  the  flowers. 


ACEOSS  THE  STEEET 


To  club-house  loiterers  who,  en  masse, 
Stare  out  at  maidens  as  they  pass  — 
That  noonday  throng,  just  out  of  bed, 
Which  turns  its  eyes,  but  not  its  head- 
All  prinked  and  plumed  for  the  parade 
In  tailored  suits  —  half  " ready  made7' 
To  prurient  loiterers  such  as  these, 
No  earthly  pageant  could  so  please. 

But  now  and  then  a  clubless  man 
May  have  his  day  Elysian, 
For  as  he  trudges  home  at  night, 
There  may  from  off  the  car  alight, 
Just  at  the  corner  where  he  dwells, 
Some  Aphrodite  who  excels 


102  ACROSS  THE  STREET 

The  Grecian  goddess,  both  in  grace, 

And  beauty  of  her  classic  face; 

And  then  —  since  things  have  turned  his  way  - 

May  learn,  perchance,  that  very  day 

That  this  rare  maid  lives  in  the  suite 

That  faces  his,  across  the  street. 

Yes,  once  I  met  a  celibate 

(That  thing  old-maids  so  deprecate) 

Who  vouched  the  truth,  as  well  of  this, 

As  other  forms  of  worldly  bliss 

To  which  his  fancy  strangely  clung, 

Until  the  fateful  denouement, 

Which  showed  well  how,  when  came  the  test, 

A  maiden  played  the  game  the  best, 

And  just  how  well  she  knew  the  art, 

He  thus  proceeded  to  impart: 

"Once  from  my  window,  hour  by  hour, 
I  gazed  on  Nature's  fairest  flower; 


ACROSS  THE  STREET  103 

A  creature  far  more  shy  than  bold, 

With  glowing  cheeks,  and  hair  of  gold, 

Whose  eyes  returned  the  sky's  own  blue, 

Whose  lips  would  shame  the  poppy's  hue, 

Whose  form,  so  luscious,  ripe  and  rare 

'Twould  animate  the  very  air 

Through  which  she  moved,  with  faultless  grace, 

To  hide,  at  times,  her  roguish  face.  — 

Who  smiled  in  most  bewitching  ways, 

And  each  month  flirted  thirty  days 

Most  ardently,  yet  so  reserved, 

That  had  my  bread  been  likewise  served 

I  should  have  starved,  and  no  regret, 

While  gazing  on  this  rare  coquette. 

"So  while  this  maid,  in  that  coy  way, 
Thus  tortured  me  from  day  to  day, 
I  realized  how  very  fine 
Grandmother  Prude  had  drawn  the  line 


104  ACROSS  THE  STREET 

That  tolerated  half  her  wiles 

But  held  us  dumb  as  two  gargoyles. 

"But  science,  ah,  that  wondrous  thing 
May  peasant  serve,  as  well  as  king; 
And  since  dame  Grundy,  be  it  known, 
Had  quite  overlooked  the  telephone 
(As  I  had  mine,  where  on  the  wall 
It  long  had  hung  without  a  "call") 
This,  I  employed  from  day  to  day, 
(But  in  no  interdicted  way) 
To  sup  the  nectar,  sip  by  sip, 
In  accents  from  her  honied  lip, 
Until  my  brain  took  wings  and  flew 
To  realms  whereof  it  never  knew, 
Where  sweet  communion  was  maintained 
And  more  than  former  joys  attained, 
'Till,  Icarus-like,  the  heated  wires 
Got  melted  by  our  amorous  fires, 
And  when  one  day,  quite  unawares, 


ACROSS  THE  STREET  105 

I  dropped  to  earth  to  make  repairs, 
My  charmer,  with  her  back-hair  down, 
And  in  plain  view  of  half  the  town, 
Serenely  stood  at  her  front  door, 
There  flirting  with  my  janitor!" 


CLAEK  AND  THE  OEEGON 


The  Oregon  at  anchor  lay  within  the  Golden 
Gate, 

And  far  remote  from  surging  waves  —  a  thing 
inanimate  — 

When  came  an  order  —  urgent,  brief  —  to 
"Make  for  Callao," 

And  there  await,  for  war  might  be,  and  with 
no  dastard  foe. 

"All  hands  to  anchor \"  shouted  Clark;  then 
tugged  each  groaning  chain, 

And  ere  the  night  that  battleship  was  plough 
ing  through  the  main. 

And  from  that  grave  and  anxious  hour,  for  tid 
ings  still  to  learn, 


CLARK  AND  THE  OREGON      107 

She  rushing,  left  her  foaming  wake  for  nigh  a 

league  astern. 
Along  Pacific's  coast  she  sped,  as  ship  ne'er 

sped  before, 
Led  by  the  Southern  Cross  whose  beam  each 

wave  in  sequence  bore. 
Callao  reached,  late  orders  read,  "At  once  for 

Rio  sail,"  — 
Then  on  she  swept  like  mountain  mist  before 

a  furious  gale, 
And  through  Magellan's  hungry  jaws  —  more 

dreaded  than  armed  foes  — 
Till  safe  beyond  their  reefs  and  rocks,  three 

lusty  cheers  arose. 
What,    though    Cervera's    fleet   were    met?  — 

what,  though  in  wait  it  lay  ?  — 
This  made   him  but  more   daring,   and  more 

eager  for  the  fray. 
What,  though  the  crew  keen  hunger  felt,  and 

knew  nor  sleep  nor  rest, 


108      CLARK  AND  THE  OREGON 

If  yielding  what  they  needed  most,  would  serve 

their  country  best? 
The  sturdy  stokers,  nigh  outworn,  still  fiercer 

kept  their  fires, 
And  not  a  man,  though  parched  with  thirst, 

once  stopped  to  quench  desires. 
The  North  Star  now,  from  realms  afar,  intenser 

made  its  ray  — 
That  beacon  which  the  brightest  burns  when 

lighting  Freedom's  way; 
And  toward  its  beam,  through  battering  seas, 

the  battleship  swept  on, 
While  Clark  stood  constant  on  the  bridge,  and 

watched  for  lurking  Don. 
At  length  she  entered  Bio's  port,  where  late 

dispatches  bore 
News  that  the  dogs  of  war  were  loosed,  and 

bayed  along  our  shore, 
When  like  a  meteor  she  swept  on  to  join  our 

fleet  that  lay 


CLARK  AND  THE  OREGON      109 

At  Santiago 's  armored  gate,  where  it  held  Spain 

at  bay. 
The  engineers,  unconscious  grown  by  stifling 

air,  alack, 
Borne  to  the  deck  and  half  restored,  tried  hard 

to  stagger  back; 

And  though  this  sovereign  of  the  sea,  five  thou 
sand  leagues  had  run, 
This  paragon  of  battleships,  as  fresh  as  when 

begun, 
With  Clark  at  helm,  and  crew  elate  —  this  more 

than  welcome  guest  — 
Unhalting,    pushed    to    Sampson's    line,    then 

proved  herself  his  best ! 

That  Sabbath  morn  had  calmly  dawned,  and 

through  the  languid  air 
Came  far,  faint  sounds  of  convent  bells,  that 

called  to  anxious  prayer; 


110      CLARK  AND  THE  OREGON 

But  Oh!  what  crashing  thunders  break,  when 

now  the  f oemen  meet ! 
For  look  you  there,  on  swiftly  comes  Cervera's 

doughty  fleet, 
Defiant,  and  with  war-like  mien,  out  through 

the  narrow  bay! 
All-desperate  now,  they  open  fire,  and  force  the 

awful  fray, 
But  Sampson 's  roaring  guns  reply,  '"You're 

welcome  here,  come  on!"  — 
When  furies  of  a  thousand  hells  were  gathered 

here  in  one! 
Through  smoke  and  fume  the  battle  waged,  and 

every  missile  sent, 
Was  planted  where  it  counted  most,  and  where 

the  gunners  meant, 
When,  leading  all,  the  Oregon  dashed  swiftly 

to  the  van, 
And  raked  and  riddled  with  her  shells  each 

deck  where  dared  a  man, 


CLARK  AND  THE  OREGON      111 

While  Clark  forgot  his  conning-tower  where 

danger  was  the  least, 
And  on  his  forward  turret  stood  where  danger 

never  ceased. 
The  Spaniards  read  their  tragic  fate  in  their 

doomed  cruisers'  light, 
Which  all  aflame,  dashed  on  the  shore,  glad  to 

give  up  the  fight. 

Henceforth,  on  fame's  eternal  page,  the  Oregon 

will  shine, 
And     Clark  —  that     brave     "Green-Mountain 

Boy"  —  will  be  in  every  line; 
That  hill-born  hero  of  the  waves,  whose  name 

revered  will  be, 
So  long  as  valor  has  a  place  in  annals  of  the 

sea! 

Elsewhere  ones  rank  depends  on  kings,  whose 
whim  makes  "noble  blood, " 


112      CLARK  AND  THE  OREGON 

But  Clark  was  not  that  way  endowed  —  Ms 

knighthood  came  from  God  — 
The  kind  that  captured  old  "Fort  TL,"  and 

won  at  Bennington, 
Where  grand  old  Stark  the  Hessians  fought, 

and  drove  from  every  gun. 
And  so  where  Clark  shall  have  command  —  that 

leader  true  and  brave  — 
From  every  mast,  on  every  breeze,  "Old  Glory'' 

still  shall  wave ! 


CHILDHOOD'S  DEE  AM 


Ah,  blessed  was  that  childhood  day 
When  with  sweet  Alice,  blithe  and  gay, 
We  tripped  adown  the  country  lane  — 
Her  hand  in  mine  —  her  gallant  swain. 

0,  she  was  more  than  Saxon  fair 
With  sunbeams  nestled  in  her  hair, 
While  from  her  tranquil,  deep-blue  eyes, 
Outshone  a  gleam  of  Paradise. 

Her  lips  were  like  twin  rubies  set 
With  pearls  between  —  I  see  them  yet  — 
As  when  she,  blushing  bashfully, 
Said:  "I  love  you,  if  you  love  me." 


114  CHILDHOOD'S  DREAM 

I  answered  in  no  doubting  way, 
Down  in  the  lane  that  joyful  day ; 
And  our  two  hearts  thence  beat  as  one, 
And  few  were  hours  they  beat  alone. 

No  threatening  cloud  or  gathering  mist 
E  'er  darkened  this  our  childhood  tryst, 
But  every  sun  shone  full  and  fair, 
More  than  content  to  linger  there. 

We  loved  as  only  children  love 
When  mated  first  in  Heaven  above, 
Whose  gracious  smile  was  on  us  cast 
And  in  whose  beam  our  joys  were  passed. 

Life  then  was  one  sweet  reverie; 
Its  rhythm  one  fond  melody ; 
That  melody  one  gentle  voice 
Whose  accents  bade  my  heart  rejoice. 


CHILDHOOD'S  DEE  AM  115 

But  lo !  what  grief  soon  pierced  my  heart 
And  sent  its  pang  to  every  part, 
When  illness  came,  and  Alice  died, 
And  wondering  angels  turned  and  sighed. 

And  since  that  day,  how  anxiously 

I've  tried  to  solve  that  mystery  — 

To  learn  why  buds  are  made  to  bloom, 

Then,  ere  their  fruitage,  reach  their  doom  — 

Why  childhood,  fresh  and  fair  and  pure, 
Should  be  the  one  for  death  to  lure, 
While  age  is  left  to  totter  through 
Allotted  years  concealed  from  view. 

Life's  noon  had  passed  ere  once  again 
I  wandered  through  that  hallowed  lane, 
But  lo,  how  changed !  —  few  signs  it  bore 
That  I  had  known  the  place  before. 


116  CHILDHOOD'S   DREAM 

I  sought  the  humble  cottage  near, 
Which  all  my  childhood  was  so  dear, 
But  found  it  not;  where  once  it  stood 
Were  tangled  weeds,  and  fire-charred  wood. 

With  saddened  heart  I  turned  to  go, 
But  spied,  hard  by,  a  headstone  low, 
Whereat  I  paused,  and  through  my  tears, 
Bead  —  "Here  lies  Alice:  aged  ten  years." 


WILLIAM  McKINLEY 

True  to  each  trust,  and  best  when  trusted  most ; 
For  country  first,  though  facing  war  or  peace ; 
Making  in  peace  its  greatness  greater  still, 
While  yet  in  war,  his  young,  intrepid  breast, 
On  many  a  blood-soaked,  death-strewn  battle 
field 
Was  bared  to  shield  a  Nation's  heart  from 

harm. 
Gentle,   strong;   courageous,   just;   he   walked 

erect 

The  paths  of  righteousness  whereon  was  thrown 
The  radiant  light  of  his  unsullied  soul  — 
The  emanation  of  creative  Heaven. 
This  peerless  man,  by  fate  ordained  to  lead, 


118  WILLIAM  McKINLEY 

And  lift  mankind  to  more  exalted  heights, 
Alas!  by  Anarch's  venomed  fang  lies  slain! 
And  when  he  fell,  a  Nation  mute  with  woe 
Stood  dazed  and  awestruck  at  his  bier,  and  lo, 
Beyond  the  seas,  e'en  to  remotest  lands, 
Unbidden  tears  and  solemn-tolling  bells 
Bespoke  an  anguish  deep  as  was  our  own. 
That  blameless  life;  that  apt,  sagacious  tongue, 
(Which  ne'er  was  heard  save  for  his  country's 

weal) 

Though  hushed  on  earth  f  orevermore,  yet  speak 
As  with  an  angel's  trumpet  and  declare 
That,  in  the  precious  lesson  he  bequeathed, 
The  better  life  is  lingering  with  us  still. 

September,  1901. 


DESTINY 


As  I  strolled  past  an  ancient  hall, 

With  ivied  tower,  and  vine-clad  wall, 

A  beauteous  rose  peered  through  the  maze 

Whereat  I  paused  and  fixed  my  gaze. 

Though  tremulous,  as  if  through  fear, 
It  seemed  to  whisper  to  come  near, 
And  bending  low  to  catch  each  word. 
This  was  the  touching  plaint  I  heard: 

"Once  I  with  happy  comrades  dwelt 
Where  ne'er  a  stranger's  hand  was  felt  — 
In  far-off  fields  where  wild- woods  twine  — 
Companioned  with  the  herds  and  kine. 


120  DESTINY 

"Forever  free  from  toil  and  care, 
With  naught  but  pleasure  for  our  share, 
We  dreamed  the  tranquil  hours  away, 
Throughout  each  languid,  summer  day. 

"Of  danger  then  we  had  no  thought, 
For  by  no  others  were  we  sought 
Than  by  the  birds  and  honey  bees, 
And  butterflies,  and  friends  like  these. 

"But  now,  how  changed!    Where'er  we  bloom 
We  're  sure  to  find  our  early  doom ; 
No  more  for  us  the  happy  hours 
Once  shared  in  those  secluded  bowers. 

"Here  did  I  have  a  gentle  mate, 
Whose  love  for  me  was  passing  great, 
But  ere  it  had  become  half  grown, 
I  was  despoiled  and  left  alone ; 


DESTINY  121 

"For  while  the  thorns  that  guard  each  flower 
True  to  their  trust,  enforce  their  power, 
Yet  would  some  ruthless  hand  each  day 
Pluck  off  and  bear  our  best  away  — 

"Away  to  where  some  care-worn  face  — 
Familiar  at  the  market-place  — 
By  waiting  long,  and  selling  low, 
Prolongs  a  half -fed  life  of  woe; 

"Or  where,  within  the  footlights  glare, 
'Tis  nightly  hurled  in  places  where 
Some  soubrette  holds  a  motley  throng 
With  flippant  jest  and  ribald  song; 

"Or  where  it  droops  in  worse  despair 
When  tangled  in  some  harlot's  hair, 
And  through  a  long,  revolting  night, 
Would  languish,  fade  and  die  affright; 


122  DESTINY 

"Or  where  it  decks  the  trembling  bride, 
When  kneeling  at  the  altar  side  — 
Fit  symbol  of  a  purer  love 
Descended  here  from  realms  above; 

"Or  where  some  heart-crushed  mother  weeps 
For  her  beloved,  who  lifeless  sleeps, 
It  fain  would  have  her  silent  prayer 
Ascend  on  incense  it  sheds  there. " 

Thus  spoke  that  inoffending  rose 
Which  told  its  pleasures  and  its  woes. 
But  of  its  mate,  what  fate  befell, 
Or  good  or  ill,  what  tongue  shall  tell! 


THE  OLD  YEAE 


The  Old  Year,  burdened  with  his  spoil, 

Stole  off,  and  staggered  as  he  strode, 
For  he  was  wearied  by  the  toil 

By  which  he'd  gained  his  ponderous  load. 
Yet,  never  halting  in  his  quest, 

(As  if  his  victims  were  too  few) 
He  forward  on  his  mission  pressed 

As  if  fresh  fields  were  still  in  view. 
He  bore  a  desperado's  mien 

As  he  stalked  on  exultingly, 
For  in  his  demon  eye  was  seen 

The  marks  of  sleepless  revelry; 
Nay,  everywhere  his  visage  told 

The  tale  of  long  debauchery, 
Yet  with  a  lust  still  uncontrolled, 


124  THE  OLD  YEAR 

He  hungered  for  satiety. 
His  field  had  been  that  one  wherein 

All  seasons  bore  but  ripened  grain; 
Where  youth  and  age,  where  alien,  kin, 

Alike  were  garnered  in  his  train. 
Unmoved  by  prayers,  or  sobs,  or  tears, 

He  sought  to  make  his  carnival 
The  mightiest  far  of  all  the  years, 

And  count  his  work  the  best  of  all. 
Begone,  thou  heartless  reveler, 

And  hence  remain  forevermore; 
Thy  work  is  one  vast  sepulchre, 

And  thou  hast  closed  and  sealed  the  door! 


GOD'S  HOEOLOGUE 


God  tells  the  hoary  age  of  earth 
In  strata  formed  about  its  girth : 
This  horologue,  wound  by  His  hand, 
Is  such  that  all  may  understand. 

But  in  its  workings  —  wondrous,  vast  — 
Kecurring  seasons  as  they  passed 
Were  as  mere  seconds  in  the  score, 
And  centuries  counted  scarcely  more. 

And  after  eons  shall  have  flown, 
Its  age  shall  even  then  be  known, 
For  found  beneath  this  mundane  sod, 
Will  be  that  same  time-piece  of  God. 


DISILLUSION 


0  could  I  once  bring  back  again  those  happy 

childhood  hours, 
Made  joyful  by  a  sweet  content,  amid  youth's 

budding  flowers, 
Till  in  my  sleep,  some  roving  nymph  sought  my 

confiding  ear, 
And    whispered    there    enchanting    tales    that 

dazzled  me  to  hear. 

Ere  then,  no  restless  discontent  had  plagued 
my  tranquil  peace, 

Or  ventured  to  molest  the  spell  where  joy  had 
no  surcease ; 

For  life  was  at  its  morning  then,  and  its  be 
nignant  light 


DISILLUSION  127 

Encompassed  me  at  noonday,  and  tinged  my 
dreams  at  night. 

But  I  was  promised  power  and  fame,  and  cof 
fers  piled  with  gold, 

And  palaces  as  gorgeous  as  the  Doges  had  of 
old, 

Adorned  with  treasures,  quaint  and  rare  —  the 
spoil  of  every  land  — 

With  retinues  and  willing  slaves,  to  serve  my 
least  command. 

Nay,  that  henceforth  my  life  should  be  like  some 

luxurious  dream  — 
One  never  known  to  those  who  toil,  o'er  whom 

I  was  supreme  — 
For  I  to  princely  rule  was  born  —  confided  to 

me  then  — 
Because  my  veins  coursed  noble  blood,  not  that 

of  common  men. 


128  DISILLUSION 

Nay  more,  that  kingdoms  I  should  have  —  vast 

empires  in  domain  — 
O'er  which,  like  potentates  of  old,  in  glory  I 

should  reign, 
And  that  my  courts  and  pageants  should  in 

splendor  far  outvie 
The  proudest  pomp  of  other  lands,  and  dazzle 

every  eye. 

But  lo !  I  was  not  told  the  cost  of  all  that  pomp 

and  power; 
That  I'd  be  robbed  of  all  my  peace  from  that 

ill-fated  hour, 
Or  that  I  nevermore  should  feel  my  childhood 

heart  aglow 
With  transports  which  till  then  I'd  known,  but 

all  be  changed  to  woe. 

No  kingdoms  yet  have  come  to  me,  nor  palaces, 
nor  gold, 


DISILLUSION  129 

Which  on  that  night  were  plighted  me,  though 

now  I  have  grown  old. 
Yet  patiently  IVe  waited  through  the  unre- 

quiting  years, 
And  watched  with  eager,  longing  eyes,  and  often 

through  my  tears  — 

Tears  for  those  heart-remembered  joys  that 
sweet  contentment  gave 

Before  ambition  bound  me,  as  its  helpless,  cring 
ing  slave; 

For  dearer  far  than  kingdoms,  or  palaces,  or 
gold, 

Were  those  lost  days  of  sweet  content,  —  the 
childhood  days  of  old ! 


AN  EPITHALAMIUM 


Since  Eden's  pair,  that  primal  morn, 
First  kindled  love's  consuming  flame, 

The  millions  that  have  since  been  born 
Have  played,  in  turn,  the  same  old  game. 

It  matters  not  that  Eden  lies 

Amid  a  far-off  hemisphere, 
Since  love  alone  makes  Paradise, 

Where  springtime  lingers  all  the  year. 

Eing  out  the  merry  marriage  bell ! 

Twine  garlands  round  the  bride  to-day, 
For  none  who  heard  her  vows  shall  tell 

That  this  fair  one  balked  at  "obey "I 


AN  EPITHALAMIUM  131 

All  hail  with  glad  and  joyful  hymn; 

Drink  health  and  luck  to  bride  and  groom, 
And  fill  your  beakers  to  the  brim, 

Then  every  ruddy  drop  consume ! 


MONT  BLANC 


Eternal  mount,  whose  brow  serene 
Is  pillowed  on  the  clouds,  half-seen, 
What  longing  thy  abode  inspires 
In  human  hearts  —  what  vast  desires ! 

'Tis  not  decreed  that  mortal  clod 
Should  dwell  on  earth,  and  still  with  God, 
But  thou,  reared  from  an  earthly  vale, 
Dost  in  supernal  realms  regale. 

And  then,  as  if  thou  hadst  a  soul 
Pervading  the  celestial  goal, 
Thou  hast  attained  the  crown  which  now 
Triumphant  rests  upon  thy  brow. 


MONT  BLANC  133 

And  lo,  throughout  the  silent  night, 
The  drifting  snows  pile  height  on  height, 
And  thus  renewed  from  day  to  day, 
It  ne'er  shall  fade,  or  pass  away, 

But  brightly  from  those  realms  divine 
Shall  ever  and  forever  shine  — 
A  beacon,  beaming  far  and  wide, 
For  weary,  wayward  feet,  a  guide. 


COLUMBIA 
(AN  APPEAL  FOB  CUBA) 


O  Goddess,  turn  thy  beauteous  face 
To  that  fair  Isle  where  dwells  a  race 
Whose  plaintive  voice,  upraised  to  thee, 
Pleads  but  for  righteous  liberty! 

For  since  the  travail  of  thy  birth, 

Of  freedom  thou  hast  known  the  worth, 

And  at  its  altar  vigil  kept 

While  foes  intrenched,  and  sluggards  slept. 

The  girdle  'neath  thy  throbbing  breast 
Was  forged  from  chains  of  those  oppressed; 
And  stripes  upon  thy  stola  —  these 
Are  blood-stains  of  thy  votaries. 


COLUMBIA  135 

The  spangled  cap  that  crowns  thy  head 
Was  hallowed  by  the  martyr  dead, 
Who  braved  and  bled,  who  fought  and  fell, 
That  Freedom  might  survive  to  tell. 

Stretch,  then,  thy  helpful  arm  to  aid 
That  hapless  race,  by  fate  betrayed, 
And  tear  away  their  loathsome  chains, 
And  tyrants  teach  that  God  still  reigns! 

June,  1898. 


TO  MAEJOEIB 

(A  DEBUTANTE) 


0  Marjorie,  with  brow  so  fair,  and  heart  so 
chaste  and  pure, 

The  world  adoring  thee  beholds  thy  fit  investi 
ture, 

For  thou  dost  stand  in  queenly  robes  —  a  bride 
to  coming  years  — 

As  smiling  Future  beckons  thee,  but  leaves  the 
Past  in  tears! 

0  goddess  of  the  present,  thou!  0  vision  of 
the  morrow, 

Thy  younger  comrades  bid  adieu,  with  pensive 
heart  and  sorrow. 


TO  MARJORIE  137 

May  every  fond,  enchanting  dream  of  child 
hood's  golden  hour 

Bring  forth  its  glad  reality,  and  every  bud  its 
flower. 

But  as  life's  pathway  thou  shalt  tread,  and  up 
its  steeps  shalt  climb, 

Choose  for  thy  comrades  Charity,  and  Hope 
and  Faith  sublime; 

Then  thou  hast  taught  humanity  how  justly 
thou  hast  earned 

The  heavenly  radiance  from  above,  that  on  thy 
head  is  turned. 


THE  ALCHEMIST 


That  peerless  Alchemist  —  the  heart  — 
Transcending  the  magician's  art, 
Imbues  each  tear,  by  passion  wrought, 
With  distillations  of  our  thought. 

Hence  one  emotion-laden  tear 
Knows  more  than  wisest  sage  or  seer, 
Or  oceans  vast,  that  ebb  and  flow, 
Of  human  joy  and  human  woe. 


THE  FINAL  VOYAGE 


The  night  was  starless,  bleak  and  drear, 
And  through  the  rigging  one  could  hear 
Discordant  and  unceasing  moans, 
Like  those  of  some  dread  monster 's  groans, 
As  rolled  the  ship  from  side  to  side 
Through  sea  and  storm  she  still  defied. 

And  bravely  battling,  day  by  day, 
What  first  was  fear,  became  dismay, 
When  braver  hearts  the  faint  would  cheer 
Could  they  suppress  their  own  sad  tear, 
Lest  kindred  on  the  distant  shore 
Might  wait,  alas,  forevermore. 


140  THE  FINAL  VOYAGE 

Beneath  the  cabin's  creaking  beam, 
In  calm  repose  and  joyful  dream, 
An  aged  mother,  lone  and  ill, 
Throughout  the  tempest  slumbered  still, 
Whose  lamp  of  life,  with  fading  ray, 
Foretold  her  near  and  final  day. 

Long  widowed,  she  had  lived  to  toil 
On  Scotia's  unrequiting  soil, 
For,  one  by  one,  at  man's  estate, 
Their  pulses  strong,  their  hearts  elate, 
Her  boys  had  sought  Columbia's  shores 
Where  Plenty  smiled  from  open  doors. 

And  thus,  with  all  life's  sunshine  lost, 
Time  touched  her  with  its  wilting  frost; 
Then  years  grew  long,  as  shadows  stray 
And  lengthen  with  departing  day, 
And  fondest  of  her  dreams  were  fain 
To  greet  her  precious  boys  again. 


THE  FINAL  VOYAGE  141 

Though  tossed  by  that  relentless  sea, 
She  slumbered  on  in  ecstacy  — 
Still  dreaming  of  her  darling  boys 
And  future  years  of  waiting  joys, 
But  ere  the  long-lost  sun  arose, 
Her  soul  had  fled  all  earthly  woes. 

With  morning  light,  in  steerage  lay  — 
Its  spirit  fled  —  the  mortal  clay, 
And  soon  the  sailors'  heavy  tread 
Bore  to  the  deck  the  humble  dead ; 
Its  shroud  —  an  outworn,  offcast  sail  — 
It  mattered  not  what  might  avail. 

And  then,  submissive  to  command, 
Those  brawny  sailors,  strong  of  hand, 
Committed  to  the  famished  wave 
That  which  its  hunger  seemed  to  crave, 
And  lost  was  that  in  its  embrace, 
Whose  sepulchre  no  kin  can  trace. 


142  THE  FINAL  VOYAGE 

For  her  no  tolling  bell  was  heard, 
Nor  yet  by  friend  a  spoken  word; 
But  elsewhere  will  be  tolled  a  knell 
In  hearts  that  still  remember  well 
Their  slumbers  and  their  blissful  rest 
Upon  that  mother's  loving  breast. 

No  pealing  anthem  there  was  sung, 
Nor  praiseful  chant  of  human  tongue; 
But  heard  instead  will  ever  be 
The  murmur  of  the  murmuring  sea, 
Whose  billows  will  forever  roll 
A  requiem  for  her  peace  of  soul. 


Ml.91850 


1  ft  gg  -     .Trtbn 


F5742 


Lyrics   of  liew  Enland 
and  othor 


M191S50 


y 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


YC158171 


